


Mystery

by annabeth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Sibling Incest, Underage - Freeform, Unsafe Sex, probably takes place during book 2, very underage (though unspecified)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 05:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: Ginny is the youngest, the only girl, a mystery to all of her older brothers.Except one.





	Mystery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icicle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icicle/gifts).



> Warning for dubious consent. Ginny is giving in because it's her brother, and Ron doesn't really understand--or realize--that she doesn't actually _want_ what he's doing to her, so be aware.
> 
> This was written years ago. In 2004, I believe.
> 
> (Gifting this to you, Icicle, because I wanted you to see it. This one shouldn't need to be fixed, though if you see anything--!)

"Tell me you'll always love me," pipes the childish voice at his elbow. Ron has always felt protective of his little sister. She is fond of using this voice to get what she wants—she knows it makes her irresistible and adorable. Ginny is the youngest, the only girl, a mystery to all of her older brothers. 

Except one. Ron pushes her hair around on her forehead and smiles up at the ceiling. He can't see her face, but he can picture it, angles and curves and strawberries, her lips and her teeth and her hair, and she looks like the family, with the colours of her skin and her nails and her knees, but she is so different. Ron has held her for years when she couldn't sleep, and he knows—sometimes before she does—her thoughts and her dreams. He is alone, separate from the other, older boys, close to Ginny, because he and she are two of a kind—both separate, clinging vines to the life of their family. Alone and uncompromised, the only girl, the youngest boy, who else should she love best of all but him?

"Tell me, Ron," she insists. He drags a finger softly over her eyelid, and says into the predawn darkness,

"I'll always love you, Ginny. I'll always be here even when everyone else is gone." His fingertips find her lips and he feels her smile with his words, and he smiles again at the ceiling he can barely see. She is his, he thinks, she has asked to be forever. He will take care of her, he thinks, like Harry always tries to protect his friends. Ron is lonely, he can't help it. Harry and Hermione each have their own parts—like a full production of a play—and he is just the understudy. But not to Ginny. To Ginny, he is her everything, her big brother, her protector… her lover? Ron doesn't know where these thoughts come from, but he does know that he's still older than she is, and that he has vowed to be there for her like no one else.

And he will. Ginny is his; she will always love him with the wide-eyed, trusting gaze of a child, even when she's grown.

"Ron," she whispers, "I'm cold."

He turns towards her, glancing at the top of her head. He will warm her, he thinks. It's an invitation, he thinks. Outside, everything is silent, still, waiting for the first burst of light, which breaks the world into sound and colour. It's like the atmosphere is waiting, breath held, for Ron's decision, Ron's choice. His.

She wriggles in his arms, her light shift caught beneath his right knee, and she growls in the back of her throat in frustration.

"Ron, _move_ , you're on my gown." She pinches him and giggles. Obediently he lifts his knee, and she tugs her shift away from him, and makes to take it off.

"What are you doing?" he asks sleepily, the breath still held next to his ear, the windowsill digging into his elbow.

"I want to put something warmer on—" she starts, but Ron finishes, suddenly rolling onto his side, his baby sister silhouetted in the lush first streaks of dawn. The birds have yet to call, and he catches his lip and his breath in his teeth. She is startled, but snuggles closer to his chest, and then his hand is stroking downwards, his fingers cold, her skin warm despite her protests. She asked him to warm her, he thinks. His love for her boils under his skin. _Two of a kind._

They had to stay together—no-one else could understand them. She will breathe his life and he will hold her soul, and no-one, not Harry or Hermione, will be able to interfere. He will claim her, he decides, for his own, once and for all. Then he will belong.

Her thighs are still thin like a child's, her breasts still budding, her lips still full with childhood. His hands span her hipbones, his fingers reach, he strains—

His middle finger brushes the softness of her outer lips, and he can't breathe. So beautiful. He doesn't hear her gasp, suddenly try to squirm away. He pulls her closer.

"It's all right, baby, you're my sister, I love you, I have to protect you. I know Mum hasn't said anything to you about this, but you said you wanted me to love you for-ever—" he can't speak, her skin is so hot against his questing fingers. She stops trying to move away, but her body is still resistant to his touches. He breathes into her hair, and Ginny tenses, then relaxes. His hand is cupping her now, completely, and he feels full of his sister, her scent her smile her ears her tongue her thighs her knees—even her feet—

This is the way love is supposed to be, Ron thinks, huddling the knowledge close to his breast. He slips a finger inside of her, and she trembles. Dampness spreads against his hand, and he knows she likes what he is doing to her. He begins to pump his fingers, and she whimpers in pleasure, and he thrusts harder, more fingers, into her virginity. Something slick coats his fingers, and he knows it's blood, he has broken her hymen with his fingers—larger than hers, rougher than hers—he closes his eyes and kisses her, taking her lips into his, her teeth, her tongue— He swallows, moans, kisses her harder. Her blood is on his hands. He rolls on top of her, tearing at his boxers, pulling himself out of his clothes and positioning himself over her, the blood on her lower lips so beautiful— He dips his head below and licks the outline of one plump lip, then traces around to the other, her blood sticky and sour on his tongue, and then her clit is between his teeth, and Ginny is trembling, shuddering, mewling. She loves him, he can tell, her voice is weak and beautiful in his ears, her blood is his blood and he holds it on his tongue as long as he can.

Of the same blood, two of a kind, he pushes into her. She cries out and he covers her mouth, no-one can hear them, he knows that. They would never understand. He loves her! He is fucking is baby sister, he realises, but he doesn't stop. He clenches his thighs, and she breathes so loudly in his ear.

Out the window the birds are singing, the silence broken, the bated breath let out.

She wanted him to love her forever, didn't she? She _is_ irresistible and adorable, he thinks, just before he comes inside of her. She doesn't need to manipulate _him_ , because he couldn't say no to her if he tried. He pulls out of her and licks her knee. He wants to explore the valleys of her body, but he's tired, and so he doesn't. But she is lying sprawled beneath him, a tangled disarray, displayed against the blue sheets, white skin and fiery hair an imprint on his consciousness. He closes his eyes and tugs her against his chest. His shoulder is damp and he doesn't know why. So he whispers to her, his sister, his love, his favourite.

"I'll always love you, Gin. Don't you love me too?"

"I," her voice hiccups, "You're my best big brother. You play with me and love me, and no-one else wants me around..." She trails off. She gulps. She starts again. "I'm special now, right, Ron? I was good, right? I love you so much. I need you so much." Ginny clings to his chest, eyes closed. 

"You'll always be special. My special, beautiful sister. No-one understands me like you, Gin. No-one understands you like me. You see that, don't you? No-one will ever love you like I do," he says fiercely. He can feel her nod against his chest; her hair scrapes over his nipple like fire.

"I know it, Ron. Kiss me all over again, Ron," she whispers.

"Later, for now, just watch the sun come up, okay?" He almost can't hear her breathing anymore. The window is so close he thinks he could fly through it, that's how euphoric he feels after fucking—yes fucking!—his sister. Ginny is warm, but a slightly trembling burden in his arms, and he needs her like he needs oxygen. She will always be his.

He presses his face into her hair, kisses her eyelids, tastes salt. She's still naked from the waist down beneath him, as is he. And he can taste that salt, and he wonders at it.

Ron listens to her heartbeat, which is rapid and wild, and he wonders at that too. Why does Ginny cry? Doesn't she know that he loves her? He will reassure her, he decides.

"It's all right, Gin. You can always have this love, whenever you want it. But you can't tell Mum or Dad or anyone else..."

"They would never understand," she says dutifully, closes her eyes again, but the tears continue to leak down her cheeks into her ears.

end.


End file.
